The Reason I Breathe
by Sorelliena
Summary: Discontinued. SORRY! Magus went through heaven and hell, searching for Schala. He crossed time again and again, trying to erase what was. She was the reason he breathed; the reason his heart beat. And he'd go through it all again just to have her back.
1. One

_*Warning: Contains lemon in later chapters._

Chapter One

"A prophet?"

"Yes. I have good faith in him, Schala, and I expect you to, too."

The maiden eyed the tall man, warily. He was dressed in a deep violet robe, hiding his face with a shroud of shadow; Schala shivered, for his aura was intense and dark. A prophet, at this time? What was her mother thinking? Schala exhaled, uneasily, already exhausted from praying a few days prior, and she swallowed to clear the dizzy cloud that swarmed behind her eyes.

"…A pleasure to meet you, my lord," Schala found herself saying, courteously, snowy lashes cast down so she didn't have to imagine the unnerving twang of being looked upon by this man. She even tipped a small, weak curtsy, remembering her etiquette in time even though her temples throbbed.

She was surprised when he began to speak. His voice sounded like shards of ice, smooth and cold and dark, but underneath she could also hear smouldering fire: "As it is mine, Princess Zeal."

His voice made her tremble. She could feel it; frightening and miserable things lurked under that hood. She needn't see his eyes to know what emotion they would betray from his soul, nor did she need to be acquainted with him to know that he was a man of some sort of fearsome power, beyond her benevolent ones. _I'm exhausted…_ Schala thought, dazedly, feeling nauseous and having several parts of her body ache. _It must be the machine… I'm over-exaggerating…_ She barely even caught the strands of her mother's instructive words, but the princess snapped herself awake.

"…found him five days or so ago. Now, Schala, I want you to listen closely to Prophet's words. So far, all of his predictions have come true, and we have fixed the problems in the Mammon Machine. He will be boarding with us, and we will take him with us to the Ocean Palace. He has also predicted of strangers, coming and attempting to ruin our plans of immortality." Here, the Queen's voice dropped to a severe tone, "If you see any unfamiliar people, destroy them _at once._"

"…Yes, Mother…" Schala replied, still in a soft and quiet voice. She feared she'd break if she tried to use any louder a tone. "I… will watch for them... and I will treat him with the utmost hospitality I can give."

"Good." Queen Zeal replied curtly, cattish eyes narrowed. "That also means no more nonsense about stopping the machine. Do you understand me? He has predicted that we will harness Lavos without fail."

Schala didn't respond immediately.

All the while, the maiden felt his eyes on her. They bored into her right side, because he was to her right and he was looking at her from across the throne room, but she could feel the gaze shoot through her like an arrow set to flight. Something about his aura seemed to radiate power, and it was violent power that clashed with her gentle ones. Small entrails of hatred and sorrow seemed to flick at the ends of his—

"_Schala_." The queen's tone became acidic.

"Yes, Mother. I'm sorry."

"Where is Janus, that little scoundrel?" The queen continued, eyeing her daughter.

She must've imagined it; at that moment, Schala thought she felt the Prophet flare with a sort of fury. It died the minute she recognized it, and Schala thought nothing of it afterwards.

"I do not know, Mother," came the princess' automatic response, head bowed down in respect.

The Prophet moved, then, followed by the subtle noise of swishing silk. Schala observed him through the corner of her eye, watching his elegant change from standing to kneeling on one knee. "My lady," he said politely, addressing Queen Zeal, "Are you in need of my services?"

She waved her fan, slightly dismissively, attention still focused on her daughter. The queen stood from her throne, stepping down a few steps to cast her gaze around the empty hall. "Yes, Prophet, but not now. We wait until Dalton comes."

Through Schala's years of training, she knew what times she could properly escape and what times she couldn't. Dalton arriving signified that her mother would be busy planning, and Schala could afford to escape back to the sanctum of her room. Relief surged through her; she couldn't wait to get some rest, or maybe read a little. Anything besides praying to the alien machine was better.

"Ah… Mother…"

"What?" The queen snapped.

"May I… return to my room? I feel a little faint." Schala's breathing was light. Her chest was hurting, as was most of her back and extremities and head. Her fingers were cold and numb, she was swaying slightly, and she was as pale as the marble pillars. She was more than just a little faint.

Again, the queen waved dismissively with the same obnoxious fanning motion, "Go, go, girl."

Schala hurried to turn around. She avoided looking at Prophet, who still stared intently at her; she avoided making eye contact with her mother in case the queen forgot some use she had for her, and called Schala back.

"Oh, the Ocean Palace should have all renovations done in a day!" Queen Zeal chorused, joyfully. "How the glory of Zeal will..."

The girl pushed through the doors, quickly, and was relieved when the queen didn't call her back. She ran through the narrow hall, as fast as her tired body would allow, and nearly crashed into Dalton.

He saw a frenzy of blue and mauve; she saw a wall of yellow. Luckily, she stopped herself in time from mercilessly bulldozing him down, but he caught her by the shoulders before she could run any further. The general solidified his fingers around her, his surprised expression melting into a sly smirk.

Like a chemical reaction, Schala felt her skin crawl where his hands laid on her. General Dalton, her mother's right-hand man…

"What's the matter, Princess?" He asked, coyly, eyeing her with his one black, beady eye. "Where're you scurrying off to in such a hurry?"

"My room, Sir Dalton. Please unhand me." She shook.

"A pretty little lady like you should walk slower, and with dignity." He forced her head up so that she would look at him, by her chin. Her aquamarine eyes showed apprehension for the split second that they met his, but she closed them at once.

She didn't want to look at him.

"Sir Dalton, _please_." Her voice was hoarse, and she wanted to pull away from him. It dropped to a small plea when she swallowed and said, "_Please_, let me go."

Then, he dropped his blonde head in front of hers, and took a long sniff of her hair.

Schala really wanted to scream. Fear gripped her throat and rendered her noiseless.

_It had happened before. A lon__g while before. _

"Don't forget your place, _Princess_." He chuckled quietly. He unhanded her, airily, and she stumbled in her effort to restrain herself from sprinting away. With a swish of his cloak, he dodged behind her, cleanly using his hand to slap her lower back.

Schala jumped, and without even looking or acknowledging him, she ran for her life.

…_anything to get away from him…_

Her earrings weighed down her aching head as she dashed through the corridors of the palace. Books, people, Nus, Masa, and Mune all passed by her in a flash; she paid them no heed, concentrating only on one foot after the other as she made her way to her bedroom. Several maids called after her in concern, asking her what was wrong, but she left them behind while she ran.

When she arrived in her room, she almost collapsed on the staircase. Surely, she fell, but she managed to brace herself with her hands, and she landed roughly on them. The breath was knocked out of her lungs; her eyes went wide as she landed, and she could only give a small yelp when she crashed.

Schala panted, at the foot of her stairs. Sweat coated her forehead, slicking her silvery blue hair to her brow, and though her body was hot, her feet and hands were undoubtedly freezing. Slowly, one by one, she managed to pull herself up the stairs, telling herself to _move, keep moving, be strong, you can do this_. She registered that Janus and Alfador weren't there, in relief; she never wanted to worry him with her exhaustion. Finding his big sister fallen on the stairs, barely strong enough to yank herself upwards to her room, would be no comforting sight.

The princess of Zeal retreated into the far corner on her bed, too tired and shaken to even change clothing. She swaddled herself in her covers, huddling into a ball, shivering. Somehow, she managed to pull her earrings and hair tie off of herself, casting them on her table before she crawled inside the safety of her sheets.

There she sat, huddled, eyes wide and breath weak, trying to shake off the fear from Dalton and the unease from Prophet.

Somewhere in the back of her head, she thought, "I wish mother could protect me. I wish _someone_ could protect me. I wish this crusade would stop… wish Janus will never, _ever_ have to go through this… and…"

It was too much. She couldn't handle it; all the pressure from the past few days, the magic stretching and tearing her apart; she couldn't handle it.

Schala could only lay down in her corner, and close her eyes.


	2. Two

Chapter Two

Janus, with a completely indignant look as he held Alfador to his chest, told Schala directly, "I don't like him."

His older sister could only laugh, and stroke his hair. Schala's eyes warmed whenever Janus showed some attitude like that; it was a breath of fresh air to the stiff politeness of the royal court. "But, dear Janus, you don't know him yet. You know better than to judge a man by first impression."

"He has a cold aura, sister. The Black Wind engulfs him. Even his skin is oddly shaded!"

She couldn't argue with that logic.

"He doesn't look Enlightened, or Earthbound. I don't trust him."

Schala was sitting up in her bed, under the covers. She had woken up the next morning to find Janus in her room again, playing with some string and his little lavender cat. The minute she had opened her eyes, Alfador seemed to sense that she awoke, and jumped on the bed to greet her good-morning (although he bestowed her a... _lovely_ ball of hair as a gift). The light poured in from her window, illuminating her little brother in an angelic glow, lessening the darkness of his scowl. She couldn't have loved him any more, then, and Schala kissed his forehead.

She smiled at him, despite his pout. "Brother, do not fret." What was there to worry about? The man was just a prophet, no more, no less.

"I'm not worried about him, sister."

"Oh? Then do tell me what dwells here in the labyrinth of the mind of Janus." Teasingly, she gently ground a knuckle into his temple, where he mock-winced. It felt good to relax. The sleep didn't help too much; she was still sore, and she couldn't sit up unless she was propped up by the wall. Schala didn't even bother getting up since she knew she would fall over, in the end.

He pinched his lips and brow together, unsure of how to answer her.

"I'm worried about you." Janus said at last, quietly, not looking at her and shuffling his feet.

Schala paused.

He pressed on, in his childish haste to get his opinion voiced. "You are always so tired… and pale! Mother's crazy. She doesn't ever give you a break. You haven't been reading or singing, and you don't eat as much either. See? Even your smiles are tired." He pointed at her accusingly, but his look was one of utter concern.

The older sister opened her mouth to speak, but no words could come out of them. What could she say? She couldn't deny that she was tired.

"Can we go to Algetty today?" He suggested, jumping on the bed in sudden excitement. "I mean… I think it would do you good to go and play! Since it's boring up here… and you look tired…" Janus trailed off, at Schala's shaking her head. Although, it made her happy that he was trying to get along with the Earthbound, the very thought of moving all the way down, through the snow and cold, ironically chilled her.

She ran his fingers through his hair, holding him close. "Janus… you go and play today. I know you're excited. I feel a little sleepy, though, so I'll stay here for today, okay?" She kept her tone gentle, just for him.

He pouted again. The little boy looked contemplative, for a second, and then nodded when he saw the look she gave him. Janus rarely ever wanted to go anywhere without her, and it irked him whenever she couldn't go with him or he couldn't go wherever she was.

"Okay. How about this. I'll leave Alfador with you today to keep you company."

Schala blinked in surprise; for Janus to graciously lend her his best furry friend was a rare occasion. Janus never parted with him unless it was a serious case, or if they were playing hide and seek (which was trivial, seeing as they weren't). She half-registered to check her reflection and see if she really was as tired as he said she looked.

"But," he continued, and that was when Schala laughed: How could she not have expected a catch? "In return, you gotta promise me that you'll come with me for a whole day to Algetty later, okay? I mean… well…"

She put a white finger on his lips, silencing him before he could ramble on. "Alright. I promise. But it has to be later." She took the same hand and began to brush the fur on Alfador's back, earning a grateful purr from the kitty. Janus enjoyed seeing Schala's gentle aqua eyes melt whenever Alfador made that sweet noise, and he grinned.

"I'm off, then!"

Janus was so unusually enthusiastic; it made Schala smile wider, in return to his grin. "Make sure you dress a little warmer, and no poking the Nus on your way out, this time," she warned him, suddenly severe. "You don't want to get them mad again."

"I won't, I won't," he giggled. Then, his voice switched back to his distress. "Sister… please rest, alright? You worry me. There are circles under your eyes. I'd hate to think that…"

He yanked the covers around her shoulders, emphasizing his silence.

She nodded, snuggling down. Alfador was already comfortably curled beside her pillow, and they watched the little boy bound off her bed and down her stairs. He called, hurriedly behind him, "I'll be home before nightfall, so don't miss me too much!"

The maiden checked the sky: High morning.

He was gone before she could reply.

Schala sighed, letting all of the exhaustion she held in flow freely out of her. She bit her bottom lip, eyes closing, praising herself on her own resilience. Alfador felt it, too; the cat sat up, curling closer to her neck, mewling and comforting her. The princess could do nothing but wince and laugh, humourlessly, at the pain that assaulted her, and tried only to close her eyes to get more sleep.

She hoped that she would wake up healed, but she knew that was unlikely.

---

Schala awoke, jerking out of a nightmare that left her in cold sweat.

What was it about? She couldn't recall. All she knew was that she felt sick; she was still dizzy, but thankfully, she no longer hurt as much. Brief images of her nightmare chased the edges of her vision, and Schala opened her lips so she could gulp more air.

She looked dazedly out the window; it was sunset. Her room was bathed in tangerine light, with a hint of twilit blue. She knew that Janus was not back yet by past experience, seeing as Janus always played until he forgot the time altogether.

Great gurus, she slept long. Morning to dusk? The sleep left her even more exhausted; nightmares did nothing but tire one when asleep. Schala tried to rub away the ache from her shoulders, to divert her attention from her own problems, but to no avail. Her shoulders started to hurt from the amount she kneaded them.

Then, she wondered, _where's Alfador?_

He wasn't curled up beside her, anymore. She scanned the room; he wasn't even in the same room anymore. She rolled out of the covers, worry overpowering her nausea. Schala didn't want to lose Janus' cat; The thought of Janus finding out Alfador was missing horrified her, simply by the image of his tear-stained face. (She figured she was very tired, for the longest dramatic scene played out in her mind of the consequences of losing Alfador, and she rubbed her eyes in irritation.)

She got up, and wrapped a robe around herself. She was still in the previous day's cloths, thankfully unwrinkled, but she felt better with a bit more covering her. Schala didn't bother wearing her earrings; she simply teased her hair up into its usual mane, behind the tie. Padding on quiet feet, for reasons she couldn't understand, she walked down her stairs and into the other part of the palace.

"Alfador…" She called, quietly, scanning the floor of the main hall. There were stairs _everywhere_; how would she find him?

Enlightened ones passed by her, unaware of their princess' conquest. A Nu inquired if she could scratch his back for him; she did so, and quickly continued her search after reprimanding the creature to bathe. She slipped into different halls, eventually wandering into the guest quarters in the west wing of the palace.

_The last place_, her mind trailed. _He __must__ be here._

It was there she heard it: Mewling, very delicate and sweet, coming from one of the rooms. It was twilight, now, where the halls were awash with drowned indigo light from outside. Janus would be back soon, and if his little companion wasn't found by then... Schala swallowed, audibly.

She inched towards the room where she heard the mewling, and she peeked inside.

What she saw amazed her.

There Alfador was; the cat was sitting obediently, rather than his usual haughty nature, tail swishing and chin upraised. Scratching his chin was the man Prophet, cloak on but hood drawn back to reveal the strangest, finest river of silver hair with a set of pointed ears. She could see his face: something about his features and frame were ominous, but at the moment, they yielded to a gentle expression that looked distant.

She noted his eyes: Red, like two pinpricks of blood, with a strong nose and jaw. He had a moody face, accustomed to—she was guessing—seeing bleak futures.

Schala tried not to make any noise as she stood from her crouch, and she had to take a few seconds to recover from the dizziness. She had to tear her eyes away from him, and she breathed with a wide open mouth as to be silent.

The princess nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard him speak in his strange, wonderful voice. "You, there. Show yourself." His tone was flat and cold.

Then, when her heart stopped pounding wildly, she slipped from the corner of the doorway, and walked in to his room.

He regarded her enigmatically, not at all surprised that she was there. "Princess Zeal." He acknowledged, inclining his head forward.

"…Good evening, Prophet," she replied, voice soft again. Polite again.

Then, he stood up, stopping his scratching of Alfador's chin. He towered above her—Oh, good lord, she _barely_ reached his _shoulders_—and he stared down at her when he walked closer. Silence hung thick in the small space between them.

Surprisingly, Schala didn't find it at all uncomfortable. He observed her, and she watched him, and when their eyes met, it was unusual. His eyes flickered with magic, and power, and emotion; her eyes must've betrayed how tired she was, with their circles, and how timid she was feeling. His back was to the windows, shadow plastered along the wall. The man's very aura seemed to seep into the fibres of things, dominating the ambiance.

He intimidated her, and yet...

She thought she knew him. She felt comfortable with him, shadows and aura and all.

That was odd.

"What brings you here, my lady?" He asked, gently. It was as if the coldness just a fraction of time ago had never existed... He tipped his head a little to the side, hair cascading down his shoulder in a silvery mass. Yes, his skin was an odd shade of gray, but instead of thinking it was strange like before, Schala found herself thinking that he looked like he was chiselled from alabaster.

She felt unbelievably shy.

"Ah… Alfador…" She pointed at the cat. "He was in my room, and I couldn't find him, so I was searching for him."

They watched as Alfador went to Prophet, and began to rub against his leg. In surprise, she exclaimed, "Oh! Alfador doesn't usually like others…"

It was strange seeing the kitty be so affectionate with a stranger. She heard a deep rumble: The Prophet had chuckled, his deep voice like thunder, and it surprised her more. "I know."

Schala didn't question how he knew. She mustered the courage to look at him in the eyes; when she did, she found herself beginning to smile. She didn't feel the coldness and melancholy from him like yesterday…

"May I retrieve him?"

"Of course, your highness."

Schala walked over to where Alfador had run off to, beckoning to the cat. He sat in the shady corner under the window, swishing his tail and cleaning his paws, obviously uninterested in the maiden.

Before she bent to pick him up, she turned to look at the Prophet again. Something... she needed to remember something. The princess searched his face, trying to remember what it was that had past her mind, briefly.

_The Prophet... the Prophet..._

That was strange.

Gasping, she recalled, "I almost forgot… Prophet, may I know your name? I know "Prophet" is only a title…" It felt strange, referring to him as "Prophet" in her mind. She wanted to put a name to the face she saw.

Then, she felt him hesitate.

"…My name is Magus, my lady."

"Magus…" The name suited him. It rolled off her tongue, and she liked the sound of it. "Pleased to meet you, Magus. I am Schala Zeal." Schala beamed, and did an open curtsy, nothing like the strained one from before. "Please call me Schala…"

At his smile, she felt a little blush cross her face; she felt like an open book, her words being taken account of by his curious and fathoming eyes.

"... Titles are so often tedious."

He simply nodded, and said, "Schala."

The way he said her name made her shiver, again. The maiden felt the same apprehensive tension she felt about him arise in her belly, but she didn't pay it any heed. They were acquaintances, now, and she wanted to make sure that she didn't alienate him in her own home, out of her own honor. The princess turned around, and scooped up Alfador into her open arms, shushing the cat's protests with her gingery caresses.

He purred in her arms, and cuddled under her chin. She mused that he was probably in a happy mood; Alfador's treatment of her was very reserved, so the affection meant that the stranger behind her pleased him some way.

It was when she stood back up that she became unbalanced.

Her fatigue ate at her, and finally chewed a hole. Wobbling on knees that no longer had strength, and feeling all the energy she had forsake her, she fell backwards.

"Scha--!"


	3. Three

_*In all seriousness, I apologize for mushiness._

_And thank you for all the feedback! I really appreciate it!_

Chapter Three

He watched over her, occasionally brushing the skin of her brow. His fingers were cold, as her forehead was feverish. All night, he'd been wiping the sweat off her face, listening to her mumble things like "Lavos, or "Janus", and once, "Father". Magus regarded the fallen lady, now tucked into his bed, with misty eyes.

He rubbed his temples, through his hood. What could he do, now? If he carried her back to her room, then suspicions will surely arise. But if he left her there, and someone arrived, then more suspicions would explode.

Being completely honest with himself, Magus _did not_ want to let her go.

He gripped her cold, delicate fingers with his own thick and tyrannical ones, comparing the difference. Magus chuckled, darkly; How long was it? Twenty years, at least. He had waited twenty long, bloody years. Hoping. Having that hope crushed, and watching as it died away in the dark of the Mystic's world...

And now, she was here. Again, whole, and alive, and breathing, and perfectly _Schala_.

The Fiendlord cared not if anyone would walk in, at the moment; he took her fragile hand, brought it up to his cursed lips, and kissed every knuckle. Sentimentalities swarmed in him. He felt like a fool, but he was too deep in his euphoria to care in the least.

"Schala..." He whispered, staring at her. "_Schala_... How I've longed to say your name...!"

She stirred, in her sleep, and he proceeded to kiss her forehead. The chill in his breath was heavenly to her, in her comatose, and the frown was wiped off of her face. He could've sat there forever, basking in her presence, forgetting all about the anger and hardships and sin that he drudged through to be there if only to look upon her for a few moments more. He could forget Lavos, Cyrus, Ozzie, all of them. He could forget the Black Winds, omnipresent, that hung around him like poltergeists. There, Magus sat beside his beloved, forgetting he was Magus, and feeling the strange reminisce of being the Janus he was once long past.

How he hated time, and its incessant flow.

It was strange, though; while he had trailed after Schala in the first few days, he had seen the younger version of himself—he called the little him _Janus_ as he referred to himself as _Magus_—run around the palace causing mischief. He wondered about himself, briefly, and felt a strange shame wash over him when he contemplated what he had been and what he had become. Magus felt strange yearnings when he saw Alfador (which was why he had called the cat to his room in the first place), and he also felt peace thrive through him in the libraries hidden deep inside Zeal Palace, despite the tedious way he remembered them.

Seeing the little him—the _Janus_—forced him to think. Magus fully recognized his sins, and out of self-preserving sanity, hid away from the boy.

His thoughts were broken when Schala's snowy lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks. She was so tired and ragged; fury seized him every time he looked at her ashen palette, fury at his god-forsaken mother, fury at the fates. The Fiendlord leaned forward, checking over her as she slowly woke from her exhaustion-induced slumber. His sister groaned, eyes hazily opening and shutting as she tried to fight her delirium.

"Magus?" She breathed, uncertainly. He dropped her hand, and withdrew his own into his cloak.

_Control. _That was the word. That was what he sought.

He leaned over her, peering at her coolly, replacing his façade. Magus knew he had to hide himself, if he were to succeed. He relished in the feeling of confidence, knowing that freedom would come with killing Lavos. "Princess Zeal, are you awake?" He inquired, tone at just the right amount of concern.

"Where... where am I?" She sounded so breakable; it fed the anger that course through his veins.

She shrank back when he went a bit closer, and he flinched under his hood. (_His aura...)_ "You are in my room, Schala," He told her stiffly, trying to run balm over the sore wound she lashed into him by jerking away, "You had fainted here. Are you feeling alright?"

"Ah... yes... I suppose." She was still uncertain, and both of them knew that she was lying severely.

He growled, deep and low, "There is fever in you."

"...I know... I have been trying to sleep more, but..." Schala gripped helplessly for an excuse of any sort, feeling her head pound with the rhythm of her heart. "It hasn't helped, as you can see. I... am sorry, Magus, for causing you trouble."

Magus couldn't say anything; he dug his sharp fangs into his tongue in case he said too much, as everything she said to him made him want to respond in a million words or more. She struggled to get up, propping herself on her elbows and then pulling herself into a sitting position. It took him a few moments to realize that she was trying to stand, before he pushed her back down gently.

"What are you doing?" His tone was flat and icy. What _was_ she doing? In her condition, she should've lain there and gone back to sleep, but he knew Schala. Schala was always strong; he pushed his old-bred admiration of her strength away for new concerned irritation.

"Magus, I shouldn't stay here and trouble you. If you just call for someone to help me back to my room... I can make it, and..." She was still attempting at a vertical position, before he tucked her in tightly under the covers.

Before she could protest, he said "Princess, it will not do anyone any good if you tried to move now. Listen to me, as an advisor, and rest for the night."

She hesitated, hearing his tone drop down to a softer one. Schala felt strange fear and confusion and gratitude towards him, but the minute she confronted those feelings, they flitted away.

"Where will you sleep...?" Perhaps it was a stupid question, but it was necessary.

There was always light in Zeal; being a floating country, they were closer to both moon and sun. She hoped that he could sleep well with the lack of dark. Then again, why did she think he needed darkness to sleep? She was too bewildered to process things properly.

He thought for a moment, and interrupted her mental musings. "I will sleep in the morning, when you have gathered your strength."

At her expression, he almost chuckled, and continued to spin his tale. "I am from... quite a ways away. I am still adjusting to your... time." It was half true, at least: He _was_ trying to adjust to their... "time".

She accepted it; he knew her acceptance face. In silence, Magus triumphed, fuelled by the knowledge that he still _knew_ her look of acceptance, and that the years hadn't destroyed what he remembered of her.

Her hair was fanned out among her; he had pulled it out of its tail when she had fallen. It took all of his training and speed to catch her before her head collided with the marble floor, and by the time he did, Magus was nearly sick with a sort of anxiety he couldn't remember feeling in a long while. The same concern was there, still, sitting in the pit of his stomach. Decisively, he glanced about her, and said, "Wait here, Schala. I will fetch something to cure you."

He knew that Schala had found out with horror that the healing pads on the floors of the Zeal Kingdom did not work for her. He remembered long ago that she told him, in a ghostly voice, that "No magic can save me, now. Not when I'm... I'm..."

Such a long time ago.

He rummaged his waist pockets, discarded in a corner. He had hid all of his possessions in a creviced rock below Zeal, revealed himself as Prophet, and then retrieved the items. How could he have predicted that the time gate would have sent him back here? The irony was almost hilarious, if it wasn't so agitating and ridiculous.

Magus' scythe glinted, almost questioningly, in the corner he covered with curtain, but he paid no heed to it. Perhaps blood crusted it, even in the short time that he owned the current blade.

What he wanted was...

"Schala, are you still awake?"

"Yes..." Her voice was faint. The Fiendlord knew he should've let her sleep, but he couldn't spare her at the moment.

He walked over to her, sitting down beside her on the bed. She opened her eyes briefly to look at what he was doing when she felt the level shift, and her aquamarine orbs widened when he leaned over her to pull her up. "What—" She muttered, bewildered, as he slid her into the crook of his arm.

Schala was overwhelmed by him. His scent (a deep musk, slightly salty and laced with earthy tones), his aura (dark and cold, but with a flickering ember of warmth in the folds), and his figure (as cold and hard as iron, but equally as stable) encompassed her. She saw a flash of sharp, white teeth when he tilted her head back, and she began to pant with new vertigo.

"Open your mouth a little wider," He said, and added thoughtfully a few seconds later, "Please."

She did so, and she heard an odd popping noise of cork. He tipped a little vial between her lips, sending the bittersweet liquid down her throat. Schala winced at the taste, but obediently sipped all of it. Between the bridge of her nose, she spotted an elegant glass bottle of some sort.

He watched as the elixir he gave her began to do its work.

It wouldn't heal all of her; he knew that. The praying and the Mammon Machine did too much on her for a simple elixir to wash away, but it would do enough to restore her strength. He watched her skin begin to glow as the elixir cleansed her from the inside, restoring her mana along with her vigour. Even the sheen in her hair returned when the undulating ripples of light flowed through her skin, along with the rose in her cheek that had wilted a few months ago.

It would work. He knew it would. The elixir was new, beyond the time of Magic, and it _would_ work. Flea's reputation was at stake, after all; thoughts of the rose-hued magician touched him, but he pushed the images away.

Schala's breathing became even. Her eyes were closed, and she looked calm. Then, they opened to her astonished expression.

"What did you give me?" She questioned, urgently.

Schala felt like she was floating on the winds around Zeal Palace, or the sparkling water at the bottom of Zeal's infamous waterfall, or something else that was light and wonderful. Her head no longer hurt, and though she was still tired and a little weak, her body didn't complain of the aches and her eyelids were no longer heavy. She felt mentally drained, and sleepy, but in a good way—like after a long walking trip or a good meal.

She sat up, slowly, still looking at the hooded man.

"Magus?" Her voice rose a little higher, for she desperately needed his answer.

"An elixir, my lady." He said, quietly. Next, she realized that he was staring at her in the same intense way again; she cast her eyes down.

She opened her lips, wanting to say so much. "Thank you..." she said, finally, voice surging with relief. "Where... where did you get such a wonderful potion?"

"Far away." Came his curt answer, and she ceased asking.

He was insistent on her staying; he pushed her down when she tried to leave, again. Magus was stern when he ordered her to sleep; Schala was used to orders, so she knew to lie back into the bed when he gave her a crimson glare, although she had a disgruntled look on her face.

Mentally, Magus laughed. She was still the same old Schala that he knew, and it alleviated him.

She wondered why he did her so big of a favour, but the lady had a a good idea of what thing she wanted: He preferred not to be questioned on his antics, and she respected him enough to rein in her curiosity. Schala gazed at him, not speaking, knowing that he was looking right back at her from the cloth of his hood. Somehow, despite it being unnerving to know he constantly kept his eye her, she felt secure and safe in his view.

"Sleep," he mumbled to her, and if he had brushed her forehead, she wouldn't have minded in the least.


	4. Four

Chapter Four

Alfador was there, beside her, in the morning. She woke up, sprawled under Magus' covers, to the cat's mewling. The sudden _mmmrrowrr_ and _mawrr_ made the lady jerk, tangling herself inside the labyrinth of the sheets before she could think properly. She grunted, calming her panic to work her way out of the linen cage before she did any damage, and managed to untangle her hair from a knot inside the cloth. And then, when her head was out of the stuffy cave, she blinked at the daylight that filtered through the glass, and swallowed her...

Hmm?

Her head was _wonderfully_ clear. The sharp cat noises almost shot through her head, and even despite their pain, she was glad to hear them instead of the pounding of her temples.

Nothing was hurting.

And then, the lady smiled.

Schala propped herself up, and brushed the fur on Alfador's head gently. He meowed in response, a little exasperated that it took so long for the girl to respond to his calling. She rubbed whatever sleep was out of her eyes, letting the cat snuggle into her lap.

Then, she glanced around.

Where was Magus?

---

"Schala!"

She was tying her hair, and almost dropped her ribbon.

The shrill shriek came from somewhere beside her. It was high noon, and Schala wandered the library, still feeling rested and happy from the elixir the prophet man had given her the night before. She had spent most of her morning searching around for Magus, slightly hoping that she could find him and properly thank him for his kind act, but she had no such luck. Now, she almost jumped with the loud noise, and hastily turned to find the source of the distress.

It was a forest of books, and the shelves were the trees. After scanning her eyes high, she scanned low.

Then, her eyes lit up. "Janus!"

The little boy bounded up to her, latching himself firmly around her legs. She could even feel his nails dig into her skin _through _the cloth of her royal garb. He buried his face into her knees, and before Schala could laugh and pick him up, he turned said face up to scowl at her. "Where _were_ you yesterday? You weren't in your room, and I left Alfador there _just for you_." He spoke in a You're-in-so-much-trouble-you-didn't-even-_know_-what-trouble-was-until-now-tone, scowl darkening when Schala failed to stifle a giggle. She gently pried his arms from her legs, and picked him up despite his protests. "I'm sorry, Janus." She said, honestly, becoming serious, "Did I worry you?"

"_Yes_." He snarled.

Guilt swashed inside of her when the snarl on his face didn't quiver. Maybe she had underestimated Janus' tolerance for her, this time... She then cuddled him, apologetically rubbing her cheek against his, "I had wandered into a part of the castle and fallen asleep by accident. I'm sorry for worrying you..." Mentally, she added _And lying to you, too_, but she knew he would just worry more if she told him where she had been, and what had really happened. Lavos knew that he was already untrusting of the prophet-man, and adding any more stress on him would have effects she'd rather not put on him—as a sister and as a duty to her people.

Ordinarily, she would've done a million things to comfort him. She would've felt the guilt eat her out, the urge to tell him all her troubles, and the urge to protect him from all of it. That day, though, she felt as if she were walking on air, and no amount of guilt could chain her legs down onto the ground.

He looked unhappy, but she couldn't have done anything else; there! She spotted the trailing end of Magus' cloak, right around the corner of the library. Quickly, she put Janus down among the labyrinth of books, grasping his hands.

"Listen to me, brother," she said, a little urgently. "I promise I'll make it up to you, alright? But right now, I have business to attend to. Will you be happy enough to play with Alfador in my room?"

The words "Fine, but—" were barely out of his mouth before Schala kissed him on the forehead, gratefully, and turned around to chase the shadowy man. She dodged the shelves of books, and a startled Nu, leaving Janus behind in her wake, all in a matter of seconds. Janus couldn't even take half a breath before he couldn't even feel her aura around him any longer.

He blinked, and then the calm look that managed to spread over his face slipped downwards back into the darkest expression the little prince could've mustered. The child fumed: He crossed his arms, a few minutes later. _What's going on? _He thought, suspiciously, watching the receding back of his sister. Then, it exploded into, _I'm not just a child! You can't just leave me behind here! _

His anger didn't truly wash in until he registered that Schala had actually run off without him, _not_ for the first time in that week. He already hated how he was still softening up to be nice to the Earthbound for her, and this was how she was thanking him? He had to run around the palace—_Lavos_, why is it so _big?_—searching endlessly for her, worrying about her, heart almost flipping out cold when he couldn't find her. He had to handle the idiot people who were of no stupid, _stupid_ help... He had to deal with his idiot mother and that idiot general saying idiot words to him; he even lent his beloved _Alfador_ to her, for magic's sake!

By then, the prince had already stormed out of the library. If he left doom and destruction behind him, it was less of his concern than it was his mother's to worry about Zeal falling.

---

Schala was almost out of breath by the time she found him. She had followed him outside, wondering where he was going and getting lost, until she realized he was headed towards one of the towns. The princess watched as he walked into the small cave—it held the portal down to the next cave, to Kajar. _Why is he going down? Mother wouldn't let him... _Schala brushed her thought away as she moved, having no time to wonder when she could feel him get farther and farther away. She dodged into the lit portal a little after Magus disappeared, waiting for it to take effect.

_Oh_... The lady thought, briefly, numbly, _Magus moves __fast__._

She dashed into the cave, nearly tripping on her own garb, almost chomping her tongue. The steps, she fumbled over, but she was more concerned with the beam of light emanating from the sign etched into the earth.

The portal was warm and welcoming, as always, hissing a high-pitched whine. The glow surrounded her, pure like water but lighter than a feather, sending tingles down her skin that felt mildly refreshing and a hint too jittery. Schala almost forgot to stumble out of it when she was transported down until she realized Magus had already left the cave. She ran after him, amazed when she was back in the light of the outside world because he was already heading into the next portal, quite a ways over.

"Magus!" She cried, chasing after him. His name echoed off the earthy walls inside the shrine, a thousand ghostly _Magus!_' that spider-crawled their way around the wall.

He turned, only a bit, before she collided with him and they landed in the portal.

_Bzzeeeeeee--_

It whirred, and whined, and then warmed. They were engulfed in flashing light, before it died down into the last cave below. Schala, temporarily blinded by the light, felt a small flower of pain blossom on the side of her ribs. She heard movement as her eyes tried to adjust to the sudden dark; when they cleared up, she saw a gloved hand extended to her.

She took it, and he pulled her up from where she fell.

"Schala," he mumbled in realization, once he saw who it was that ran into him. She laughed, weakly, a little shaken from the sudden transport, but she looked happy enough when she faced him.

"Ah..."

(She was almost getting used to the shyness she felt every time she saw him. ...Almost.)

He was wearing his prophet's hood, the better half of his face shrouded from her vision, but the large sack on his back was more noticeable. It bulged with a quantity of items, she was fairly sure, but what those items were, were a mystery to her. He must've left in haste; much of his hair, silvery even in the dim light, was still dangling out of the opening in the hood of his cape.

It was then that she realized how close she was pressed up to him.

She swallowed at the skipping inside her chest, trying to grasp the words that she needed. "Th-thank you..." She stuttered, words dragging longer than she could bear, glancing up earnestly at him. Almost like magnetism, their eyes locked, and she struggled to pull them down again. _Why... does that always..._ "Thank you for... last night. For sitting next me, and for the wonderful elixir... and..."

_And what?_

She wanted to say more. She wanted to thank him properly; he couldn't have possibly fathomed how much she appreciated his act.

In the middle of prayer, Schala always finds herself drained of her strength; there was a time, though, when none of her self-restraint could have saved the blackness from eating her. The Queen had her rushed to the new technology of the healing pads on the grounds of the palace, irritated that the session was interrupted (but back then, she was more concerned about Schala's health), and that's when the entire kingdom of Zeal found out, by some strange circumstance, the healing magic had no effect on Schala. She stayed in her faint for five days, waking up ill and exhausted and unable to speak—her throat was sore and plugged from the chanting. Janus was furious; Dalton was amused; Queen Zeal was, more or less, displeased; the people were alight with gossip; the Gurus fussed about with concern; and Schala?

She was terrified, but she didn't say a thing. Queen Zeal banished the three Gurus for treason—Schala's dearest friends and mentors, her only father figures—to places where Schala couldn't reach, helping no situation of theirs. She cried night after night, wishing with a sickening yearning that they'd be back and safe beside her, to give her some sort of insight into what was happening to her, to at least send her some sort of message that the world still made sense.

And there, Schala learned that maybe, just maybe, summoning Lavos would not be so glorious.

The elixir worked on her, and it proved that there wasn't _too_ much wrong with her. It _wasn't_ that White Magic had turned its back on her, and she wasn't too far gone to be saved.

If only she could tell him...

He waited patiently for her to speak. In Magus' mind, he knew she needed time, and he stretched his serenity as far as it would allow.

"Just... thank you. I am indebt to you." She finished, trying to send a million thoughts to him when she gripped his hand and squeezed it.

The silence stretched on for what felt like aeons. Before Schala could grow anxious, having her self-discipline trample her for bursting out and perhaps _begging_ him to answer her, just _do it_, Magus chuckled.

_That deep rumble, again..._ "Is that what you've run to tell me? I know of your gratitude, Princess."

_Do you?_

She swallowed, again, feeling embarrassed. Quickly, she grabbed for any idea that would present itself into her head. "Ah... Well... May I inquire into what you are doing?" Schala wasn't used to the foolishness that she exposed herself into. She wondered if she had offended him, in some way; he didn't seem like a very patient man, although he was gentler around her (she speculated the latter).

He motioned with his hooded head towards the light of the mouth. "I go to Kajar. I have business there."

"Business?" Now she felt nosy.

"I need to make some purchases," the prophet clarified, again amused. (_Oh, Schala,_ she despaired to herself, _Look at you, worrying about his opinion of you like a fool, and patronizing yourself for it at that.)_ "My supply grows scanty, and I have heard of Kajar's infamous inventory forged by the Gurus Melchior and Belthasar."

Her heart twisted painfully at the mention of the Gurus, but the days prior had prepared her for the ache. She put on a weary smile, and an idea slid into her mind when she pushed the yearning away. Perhaps, if she couldn't thank him directly, she could help out, somehow. "May I accompany you?" At his confused expression, she continued to explain, "Seeing as I am Princess... I believe I can speak with the shop keep on prices...? It... It is the _least_ I can do." She stressed the word.

He didn't mind at all.

Very soon, she was following close behind him in the small villa that was Kajar. She smiled at some familiar faces, usually about the castle, and mostly kept her head down as they walked through enclosed corridors. The smell of paper and wax and _Nus_ and the musk of hanging magic were heavy in the air. Schala thought it was the usual; Magus found it unusually nostalgia-inducing, even a little stomach-turning. The princess peered at his shoulder from where she was, wondering if he had already been to Kajar judging by how well he knew the place (he even knew to dodge the book that would lie open on the ground, perpetually, in the east corner...?).

There were Enlightened everywhere; everything was swathed in a sea of white-blue, or white-lavender, or white-_something. _He almost missed Slash's orange hair (well, what was left of it on him, at any rate), or even the green tinge Ozzie carried that he—well, no. He didn't miss Ozzie's green tinge. He wouldn't spoil the comfort he had, having Schala close to him, with the thought of that beast.

They arrived at the counter with the sleeping Nu, where Magus tapped on the glass of the store.

The Nu jumped, startled, and jerked out of its dream. It mumbled something, shaking itself awake, opening it's large and bleary eyes. "Can I help you?" It asked politely, the way Nus spoke. The nasal drone of their voices added to their adorableness, Schala decided, whereas Magus _still_ found it headache-inducing.

"Weapons. A scythe, if you will." Magus stated calmly, and the Nu went to the back cupboard to rummage in familiar motions.

The maiden, however, was startled.

"Magus... you desire... weapons?"

"Of course. Melchior's finest work is here, after all."

"But Zeal is a peaceful land..." Schala was shaken when she saw the raw glinting blade that the Nu pulled out so carelessly from the chest; she almost took a step back. The lackadaisical way the Nu tossed the thing up and down was almost humorous in a macabre way. She knew that Melchior used to play with the design such things, but they were _selling_ them?

"...I _am_ a prophet, Princess..."

Was that sadness she heard in his voice? She swung her head to look at him, incredulous at what he implied. She didn't say anything, though; he looked distant, again, and she could only exhale.

He weighed the scythe, taking his bag down to search in it. In her amazement, he pulled out a sheathed scythe; its handle was retreated into its wickedly curved blade. Perhaps she should've expected it; she saw glimpses of rough scars on the parts of his arms that ever slipped out of his robe, but seeing him unsheathe it, unlock it, _stroke_ it, and then re-sheath it so deftly... He handed the sheathed one to the Nu, mumbling in a low tone while taking the new scythe into his free hand. There was a little bit of motioning at Schala, and both of them tipped their heads together the way that merchants generally do. Magus dropped coins into the Nu's gangly, three-fingered hand; it mumbled back, scratching its tuft of wild green hair, and left the counter to rummage again. Schala looked on in silence, for what could she say?

The Nu returned with gold coins, dropping the load into Magus' expectant palm; it was his change. Then, the Nu walked back to its seat, and promptly fell asleep.

He bagged the new scythe, brushing his hair back into his hood in the process. Schala stood beside him in silence, barely realizing he was speaking to her.

"Schala, thank you. The... shopkeep, there, had quite the price on—_get back_." What first sounded kinder was paused, and then his voice dropped into a hiss.

She didn't register it fast enough.

Kajar flew by.

He almost yanked her into the corner, earning a squeak from the girl. Magus pressed her into the corner by his back, almost covering all of her with his body from the view of the rest of Kajar. She was about to ask him what he was doing, flustering her and scaring daylight out of her soul. Schala opened her mouth, but she stopped her preparation to speak when something brightly coloured caught her eye.

_Red hair?_ She thought with a frown.

A new wave of auras assaulted her. She grew rigid.

Schala felt through them, analysing.

"...what mean by "perish?", Crono?" came a gruff, velvety voice that the princess identified as female. Schala managed to take a glimpse of the group that walked in past Magus' shoulder. She saw the top of a head with dark yellow hair, wild and unkempt and curly. Channelling her attention, she felt the woman's aura: Undulating, ebbed with raw strength, but pure and honest. The strangeness of it coated her; there were strange things, different little knots and holes in her aura, and Schala retreated back from feeling it immediately when she also felt something... _oily_.

"Perish: An act of disappearance, following destruction or ruin. Common synonyms contributed include death, expire, passing away." That voice was strange... it was metallic, with clinkering, and much beeping. The person who spoke had done so with barely any emotion, and Schala craned her neck. _What aura is this? _She thought, incredulously. She couldn't feel anything from it, except some sort of warm, stale air that mimicked an aura. The woman with the wild hair made a noise of pure confusion, spiking more of Schala's curiosity.

Magus shot her a look, over his shoulder, and for the first time, Schala was too afraid of him to disobey. She clambered down, taking her—_oh, lords, I didn't..._—digging hands off his shoulder.

She couldn't hear the quiet reply that followed, perhaps from the person who owned the red hair she had seen for that brief moment, but she heard the woman speak again in a deductive tone (Schala could almost _hear_ the shrug in the woman's voice), "Robo no get, either."

"A-Ayla! I assure you I comprehend the term. The specific definition stems from—..."

The conversation faded; she heard their footsteps go farther away.

Schala's heart pounded.

When Magus was sure they were gone, he swung around to face her, his eyes flashing dangerously. She backed into the corner, when seeing the menacing expression on his face, and he opened his pale lips to growl.

"There. Those. Those are who I predicted will bring down your Kingdom. Let us return, and tell the Queen Zeal."


	5. Five

_*Note: This chapter follows the script of the scene in Chrono Trigger. I apologize for the tedium..._

Chapter Five

"Go to your room, and grab your pendant, Schala."

"But, Mother—"

"Now! You heard Prophet. Those urchins are here to hurt us! I need the power of the Mammon Machine _this instant_. Go! Hurry!"

"Mo—"

"_Now!_"

---

Schala wasted no time, the minute she was in her room. She fumbled in her drawer, finding her pendant resting in its velvet box. Hastily, she put on her earrings, and then pried the pendant from the groove inside its resting place.

Her head was hurting; the Black Winds...

It shone a bright vermillion against the light of the setting sun. Schala felt like a fool; when Magus had taken her, and told the Queen of the strangers that had arrived, her mother appeared calm as she said "I will make preparations. The Ocean Palace is complete, after all." Schala had truly believed that it would've been over; she wouldn't have needed to pray any more. Perhaps they could bring immortality to the people, and perhaps the threats would be gone. Snapping out of her thoughts, she fastened it around her neck, still rummaging in her drawer. Quickly, she pulled out another necklace in her possession: it was a small amulet, a fair-sized oval gem that was a myriad of hues, hanging on gold and silver cord.

She clasped it in her hands, hastily praying to it. She felt the energy surge through her, coursing down from her head and her heart and into her hands. The amulet began to glow, casting rainbows along her walls and shelves of books.

The glow faded, in due time. She breathed evenly, placing the amulet on her table. She was preparing it for—

"Schala!"

It was Janus, just in time. He walked in, sombrely, completely forgotten about his anger earlier.

"Oh!" He ran up to her, looking out of breath, with Alfador tensely following behind him. She welcomed him with open arms that, to her surprise, he didn't go to. "You're back, Janus!"

His emerald eyes were filled with anxiety. His fists were balled, white at his small knuckles, and his flaxen hair seemed to stand on end. She knelt before him, holding his shoulders, and she felt worry blossom in her chest. "Is something wrong?" She murmured, staring at his pale face. She felt her maternal instinct kick in; Schala rubbed his cheeks, finding them cold, and then held his shivering form in her hands.

"The Black Winds..." He breathed, his cheeks ashen.

Her breath hitched; Schala gripped his shoulders tightly. "You feel it too?" Their voices were unbearably quiet as they spoke. Janus nodded, gritting his teeth against the pain that must've assaulted his head, and she fought the urge to coddle him.

"...Don't worry." She said, at last, holding him tightly against her. He wrapped his arms around her, in return, seeking comfort that she gave, and his head disappeared within her collar in search of warmth. She wondered what she could say, and what other things she could've done to ease the migraine, and her voice came out strained. "It'll be alright. It'll…"

Schala stood abruptly, returning to staring at him resolutely while holding his shoulders. She turned, walking a few paces to the table, even grimacing at the streams of light through the window that managed to tackle her eyes, and then she bent over the table to pick up the spare amulet she had retrieved along with her pendant. The soft warmth ebbed and echoed through her fingers, still hot with prayer and love. Schala carefully picked it up, and then ducked under the beams again to walk back to him; at his confused expression, she knelt again, kissing him on both cheeks.

She took it in her hands, holding it up to his face. "Now," she said, voice shaking, "I want you to hold onto this."

"What is it?" He asked, enchanted by its boiling colour. It was wonderfully warm, and he felt power restored to him while the ache in his head receded. Schala pulled it out from his fingers, lengthening the clasp on the chain so she could safely loop it around his hair. She began to speak again as she gently tugged the strands of silver out from under the necklace portion.

"It's… a kind of amulet. If something should happen, it'll protect you." She held him again, unable to resist thinking that her strong-willed little brother was too fragile, feeling choked as she said those words. She didn't ever want _anything_ to happen to him. "I wish… I wish I could be with you always…"

Schala swallowed. She felt the emotion well up in her as she confronted the danger of the new people, and the danger Janus was in, and the _knowing_ of the pain that would come with more prayers. How could she keep going? Magus' potion cannot hold out forever, and she didn't even dare to imagine asking for another one. What would she do, if she couldn't be there to protect him?

"But mother has other plans." She finished, at last, after searching for her words.

Then, Janus tightened the grip he had around her. "She's _NOT_ our mother!" He shrilled, at the pinnacle of his rage. The sadness inside his sister's aura threw him into frenzy, bringing her welled sorrow through to him, and a small lump rose at the back of his throat to match hers. He felt the same tears she tried to hold in, deep down, form in his eyes. Janus _hated_ crying; he was a boy, and he was a _prince_. He should be stronger than tears. "She looks like our mother, but inside… she has changed…!"

He dug his nails into her back in irrationality, making Schala cry out. Her skin must've had little crescents dug into it; Janus' nails were sharp, like most Enlightened who kept themselves finely groomed, and she felt the tips of them sharply even with her thick garb on. Immediately, he let go, gasping as he stuttered apologies—_What have I done?!—_and staring horrified at her face.

She tipped her head forward, breathing a little harder, blue-silver hair spilled across his face.

She drew out of her wince, pulling him close again. "Still… I can't… Janus, I'm sorry…" Her voice was barely above a whisper. She buried her face into his shoulder.

Brother and sister stayed like that, holding each other, in silence. She counted their heartbeats; their hearts beat together, in unison, pressed up to each other's breast. Somehow, it had always been like that for them, and she treasured him like she treasured the very bane of existence. Their hearts beat the same as their mother's, too, though both of them now had doubts their mother still _had_ a heart. How much time had passed, they were uncertain, but both of them knew that the other was equally as irritated when they heard the knock at Schala's doorway.

"Yes?" Schala called, wishing the intruder away if she could just have more time with her little brother.

No rest for the wicked—Wasn't that one of Gaspar's sayings?

It was a young woman, dressed like a lady of the court. Schala nodded at the woman's inquiring look, giving her permission to enter (she wanted to send her away, but she knew what news the lady would bear). The woman walked in, looking at the Zeal siblings without batting an eyelash. She walked with a steady clicking of her shoes against the marble floor, shadow equally spaced beside her to bring some ominous glow to her, standing politely in front of the duo who knelt at the other side of the room. "Excuse me, Highness." Her voice was fairly automatic, and impatient. "The Queen asks for your immediate presence at the Ocean Palace."

Schala paused. She breathed in.

Then, she sighed.

"Alright."

She turned to Janus again, after standing up. He watched her stand, looking pained and lost. As the older sister, she pressed a kiss on the top of his head as the rule of comforting a little sibling.

"Well, Janus…" Her voice was strained, showing she obviously didn't want to comply. "I'll be going."

She followed the lady out, keeping her eye on Janus, who only stared after her with viridian eyes that tore at her heart. Janus shuffled his feet, holding Alfador tightly against his chest, as he watched Schala walk away. The last glimpse she had of him was his hair, slightly red-orange as it was dyed by the sunset, eyes full of understanding that he only shared with her (though they were still unwilling to let her go, and terribly afraid), holding Alfador who was looking at her, too.

She prayed to some sort of deity, dreadfully, that those eyes of his would never be haunted. She prayed that he'd never look hungry or hurt (like the Earthbound, the poor people) and she hoped, or perhaps she begged, whatever force was driving destiny that she'd still be there to protect him, in the end.

The corridor was long and empty; she figured most people were turning in for the night. The halls echoed with the rustle of the cloth of the maid's and her dresses. The walls were also orange at that time of day, almost one solid shade; marigold sunset beams angled in from the top windows, fanning and setting the hue. She lowered her eyes to her feet, keeping her sight fixed on the disappearing and reappearing heels of the maid in front of her.

Orange, orange, orange…

Schala held her head up, knowing the door was near.

Orange…

…_Green?_

There, there: A strange thing stood at the door of the hall, leaning against the pane of the opening. What matter of creature was he? She couldn't see. His face was turned from her, and as he turned around, he bumped into her.

"Oh!" She squeaked, in surprise.

She took a step back, staring at him. He had large yellow eyes, and sticky green skin. Green skin? She blinked, once, twice, and then realized that he was wearing chunky armour with a dark brown cape, and he stood still—_Is he trying to camouflage?_ Schala took a step back, completely caught off guard. Was he... some sort of animal? He observed her, briefly, before backing away. His aura… it was hard to decipher; there were so many different hues, and she heard croaking everywhere that was both alien and earthy. She opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"Who might you be?" At last, she spoke. Perhaps he was… some sort of… Nu?

He (She?) didn't answer her. He only backed away even more, the cape around his shoulders acting almost like a shield to cover him.

The princess stood there, staring at him, and having him stare at her. Schala snapped her head towards the direction of the maid, who called in an aggravated voice "Miss Schala, please hurry. If you're late, I'll be punished!"

Did she not see the creature there?

Schala glanced back to the corner where the strange creature once was; it was empty. She was too bewildered to properly wonder where he had gone, and only called back to the maid: "Oh yes! I'm sorry."

The maid beckoned, and Schala hurried forward.

---

"Your Majesty, these are the evildoers I warned of."

The way he said it shot ice down Schala's spine. Perhaps it was the cruelty of his words, or the lack of any sort of caring, or perhaps the room was just cold.

Queen Zeal sneered at the group: A boy, perhaps, with the ugliest mass of red spikes protruding from his skull, wielding a sword that he held unsheathed; a girl with spectacles too big for her face and man-ish, unflattering clothes; a girl, with blonde hair, who looked too fragile to even support the crossbow she held at the ready. "How _dare_ you try to oppose me, foreigners?" She stepped down from her throne, in the likeness of a panther. She shot them a deadly look from the tips of her fan, which she held across her nose as if some stench had pervaded it. "You're worse than the Gurus. Dalton, take them away."

Schala wanted to speak. She wanted to stop what would happen. However, Dalton, across the room, eyed her intently, and all the courage she needed to confront her power-mad mother died.

"Yes, ma'am!" He swept an eloquent bow from his place at her side, flashing a wink at Schala on his way down (and Schala cringed, for no potion in the world could fix the memory of that). He then stepped forward, in his overly lavish pose, and dramatically threw his hand across him. "Golem!" He roared, and the monstrous thing fell from the sky.

"Crono!"

"Get ready!

In a flash of light, Dalton brought them safely away from the floor of the meeting hall.

Magus contained his chuckle as he watched the group, slowly but surely, get battered by the golem that the fool Dalton kept as a sport. The Prophet felt his grudging anger fade away as the group was battered. They ruined his plans; all he was doing was giving a little quid pro quo. He knew they had the strength to take it down; Glenn, with the Masamune, was missing from their small party, so he deducted considerable strength from them. Of course, the Golem had the advantage of being in a force field that took the strength away from the pesks, after all...

The Golem's roars spiraled upwards; the earth shuddered.

He leaned forward, watching as the group tried to sustain the attacks while keeping each other healed. The blonde one cried out first, fell, followed shortly by the girl with the dark hair and hat, soon followed by the red haired nuisance. They couldn't be of any match, not here.

Dalton only waved again, in his overly cocky way, and they were back in their same positions on the floor. Schala had stumbled in surprise, disgust and horror toppling her, but all the rest of them were too absorbed--entranced, perhaps--by their injury.

The queen cackled above their panting bodies, fanning herself in a satisfactory way. "Fear not!" She crowed, snapping her fan shut with a loud _thwack_! between her finger and thumb. "I won't kill you... immediately, that is."

Then, she walked down the steps some more, and using her foot, rolled the boy over where he lay; he groaned, in pain, at the pointed heel of her shoe, and his expression sent joy coursing through the breast of the Queen.

Schala closed her eyes, turning her head away. She mustered all the forgiveness she could for the woman who was her mother, and gritted her teeth. The princess focused on staring at the glassy walls of the throne room, trying to remember her mother's once gentle and playful voice, instead of the hissing and crowing one. Her restraint almost slipped when Queen Zeal, with the upmost enjoyment, said "I'll allow you to sample every type of fear and pain _imaginable_ first."

"By the time we're through with you..." Her face darkened, malicious smile spreading across her face. "...You'll be begging us to end your suffering." She walked back up the steps, and spun back, laughing again.

"Ah," She cried, "What a delicious diversion!", and kept laughing until she watched their bodies fall through the blackness that grew beneath them.


	6. Six

_*A little more tedium, because it still follows the Chrono Trigger plot. I'm sorry! And... I seem to be experiencing writer's block... so... T_T  
_

Chapter Six

The minute she saw it, how the foreigners managed nearly ten full minutes of battle with Dalton's golem, even with a handicap, Schala felt inexcusable hope dawn. All of the exhaustion in her body drained when she returned to Janus, excited and brimming with a story to tell.

She devised a plan. She had to work quickly, if she wanted anything done.

The only problem with her plan?

Janus insisted on going with her.

---

"Hmph!" Janus crossed his arms, looking up at the group of people who had been captured, floating in their magicked prison. "Idiots..."

Schala snapped at him, "Janus!"

The little brother shrank a little. "Sorry! They just tried to touch Alfador, is all." Hearing his name, the cat purred, following the little boy closely. "And they've got a _great_ load of fortune on 'em. Can you feel it, sister?"

She eyed the group, after turning from a smirking Janus. They were young; they were about her age, perhaps, though she wasn't sure about the red-haired man. He must've been the one she saw at Kajar, but Schala didn't finalize anything.

She analyzed the group: There were about six of them. There was a serene lady, with golden hair, wearing a white-themed garb, and having a pendant around her neck that eerily resembled Schala's own. Another girl had dark hair, and strange spectacles that covered her face, wearing odd clothes of different colours and strange designs. One of them—she recognized the woman by the hair—was scantily clad in undyed skins of beasts, with wild yellow curls, and was the lady she saw at Kajar. One of them was the green creature she had bumped into in the hallway, green and clothed in earthen robes, a large sheathed blade at his side; the last of them, she couldn't decide if it was one of them or not, looked like a sort of machine, tinted marigold with the slightest bit of rust.

"What will you do, Schala?" Janus asked her, quietly, walking to stand beside her under the glowing column.

"Let us rescue them." She said, with finality, walking towards the panel that was the key to the prison.

Janus, in alarm, put his hands on her waist, and she looked at him. The glow from the prison made both of them an eerie white shade; Janus hastily said, "I think it's useless. Besides, if they escape... you'll be in trouble." He was worried about her, in the end.

She shook her head, and smiled, smoothing down his hair. "Don't worry about me," she said, with confidence. Then, she turned to them, voice lower and softer.

"They just might be able to rescue the Gurus."

The little boy shook his head, glancing at his sister's hopeful face, bright cyan from the light of the cell. "Schala..."

He couldn't stop her. She began to pray, holding her hands together and chanting words in the Ancient tongue, to the panel. He watched the familiar scene of Schala glowing, hair floating around her like a goddess, as beautiful as she always was when magic poured from her.

A blue light bathed the room, and drained out. The prison wobbled, and disappeared. The prisoners were lowered _very_ carefully—for it was _Schala_, after all—onto the floor beside them.

They stirred. Most of them were only half-conscious, no doubt beaten by Dalton after the battle to the point where they couldn't have raised their heads without feeling ten times the gravity of Zeal's finest mechanisms. She shivered, an acrid taste filling her mouth at the thought of the general, but she shook the feeling off and remembered her goal. Quickly, she dashed beside the red haired one who was waking the fastest and helped prop him up.

"Are you all right?" She whispered to him, the minute he opened his eyes. They were a startling shade of green, and she weakly smiled at him.

He groaned, blinking his eyes at the sharp light that pricked like needles.

Schala felt guilty and sorry for them, but she knew time was of the essence. "Quickly, escape from the palace!" More of them were waking, then. Janus backed into a corner, in the shadows, weary of the strangers, holding Alfador close. She lifted up the dark-haired girl by the arm, who mumbled a "Whaaa?" in confusion when she stood. Then, Schala hurried to the side of the green creature she saw, who accepted her help with a strange croak.

When all of them were standing, huddled together, and tensely staring out at her, she felt at once shy and pressured for time. "Please, I need your help..."

Her words hung. What did she need their help for, again?

Panic struck her. In her haste, she forgot her words.

"Ayla help!" piped up the strong, scantily-clad lady, whom the group stared at in horror. "Ayla want to help nice lady!"

...And then, Schala remembered.

She felt relieved that one of them wasn't suspicious of her (Schala knew; that one, the strong woman, had analyzed her with a hunter's sharp eyes within the short seconds they met, and she was honored that this hunter woman—perhaps a prize of the Earthbound ones?—approved). "Please... I am Schala, of Zeal. I need your help, strangers, will you listen?" Schala tried to put on the most honest, earnest look she could, as she wrangled her wrists to her breast.

"...We won't guarantee anything..." This time, the dark haired, strangely-clothed girl spoke, eyeing her with hesitation. (Her aura was green, with splashes of blue, for purity and intelligence, but also for sadness and bitterness...)

The words rushed out of her mouth. She glanced at the door constantly as she spoke, as if expecting to see a giant eye peering at her in the midst of her guilt and hope. "You must rescue Melchior. He was sent to the Mountain of Woe for opposing my moth—...The Queen. Please!" Her voice dropped desperately, as she took a step closer to them. "Please, you have to help him! He may be the only one who could end this madness..."

_That's what I want,_ Schala felt a little selfish as she acknowledged her thought, _I want this to end, already..._

"Melchior?" The name fell out of the blonde, white-clad lady, whose face was equally as surprised. (She had a pretty, clear aura, one filled with dreams and love and innocent emotion. She was quirky, and sweet, and in that instant, Schala felt a lonely aching to be friends with these new strangers high above in the silent and stiff interior of Zeal.)

Schala opened her mouth to explain about the Gurus, and what was happening, when she heard the swish of the door opening.

Her heart plummeted into despair.

The prisoners' hands, in amazing unison, all instinctively flew to their respective weapons, and the people in the room stared in preparation at the door.

The maiden let out her breath that she held.

It was Magus, clad in his Prophet's robe. The hope that almost committed suicide in her was struggling to return.

She took a step closer to him, but stopped at his grim expression. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."

Schala took a step back from where she stood near him. He looked utterly enraged, barely containing the veins that pulsed along his neck with his amount of restraint; the princess felt sure static pulse in the air around him. He stalked toward the group, who began to draw their weapons, glancing from Schala to the shadowy prophet.

"Your meddling... tires me," He growled, flexing his hands from under the folds of his cloak. The look in his eyes was pure acid, burning and hot. The hunter woman, in the skins, dropped on all fours and began to hiss at him like a cat. "I suppose I'll have to make you disappear, hmm?"

She realized what he was doing a split second too late.

Frantically, she threw herself in front of the group when the prophet raised his arms. She stood in front of him, with his fingers flashing a dark and deadly light, her own arms outstretched, and she screamed "You mustn't!"

"Stop!" Janus shrieked, seeing the magic building on Magus' fingers trained against Schala's breast. "_Don't!"_

Alfador mewled, from Janus' feet, hair raised in fear.

He stopped, immediately, the fury that extinguished from his face melted into brief horror.

He curled his fingers into fists, instantaneously lowering his arms. Magus felt one of his shoulders crack painfully with the effort of containing the many pounds of magic, and he grunted. All the mana accumulated in his hands made him shake, and his breathing became laboured as the spell died down; the veins on his arms stood out from his muscles, before relaxing back down. The air in the room grew thick; no one spoke, and all were tense. Schala's eyes, squeezed shut, relaxed and began to open.

(His heart raced wildly as he tried to calm himself. Brief images of Schala, dead upon the floor, blood staining her beautiful hair a disgusting colour with blue electricity dancing mockingly upon her neck and chest, possessed him behind his eyelids.)

There he was, standing. His hands disappeared into the inside of his cloak. He was panting; she could hear it.

"Prophet...?" She called, breathlessly, arms trembling.

"I will spare them." He snapped at her, eyes burning like coals. She wasn't used to this inconsistency; the kindness that he showed her and the cruelty that shone in his aura alternated perpetually.

And then, abruptly, he stepped forward; Schala felt the group behind her step back, and she herself wasn't prepared when he grabbed her by the arm. "But in return," he kept his eyes trained on her fearful aquamarines, "You _will_ cooperate, Schala!"

Janus looked ready to tear Magus to pieces; the Fiendlord spoke quickly, making sure his face was hidden from the wielder of the Masamune, who would recognize him for sure.

"Now," he hissed, "Show me how you came here."

---

He shoved them, roughly, into the torn piece of the universe, all too glad to use as much force as he wanted to.

Schala watched while holding Janus, from the corner where Magus ordered her to, as he herded all of them in like an angry shepherd. The snow wasn't even melted from their shoulders from the outside storm when he threw them in; Janus ignored what was going on, frantically brushing the snow off of Schala to prevent any more things ailing her in her weak state.

Once the last one, the red haired man, was almost tossed in, Magus called over his shoulder. "Now, Schala! I want you to seal the portal shut." He gestured for her to walk to the side of the blue-black hole that gaped in the air, but Schala shook her head madly.

"N-No!" She stuttered, eyes wide. Wildly, searching for any excuse, she yelled, "You can't make me!"

"Leave her alone!" Janus seethed in his anger, nearly lunging at him to claw his eyes out. _I knew it! I knew we couldn't trust him! I __knew__ it!_ his mind screamed, indignantly. Schala herself held him back, astonished by the force she needed to use to rein him in, but he still thrashed violently. "Leave Schala out of this, you monster!" He shouted, eyes flaring.

Magus towered above them, stopping Janus' thrashing when he suddenly gripped the prince's soft, white throat.

Alfador hissed and spat at him, but stayed quivering in the corner. The boy's eyes widened, and he gasped. Schala, in a moment of primal instinct, almost bit Magus in the wrist so Janus could be free, if it wasn't for the fact that he held _her_ throat, too.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Came the aghast cry of one from the group from behind them, but who it was, Schala couldn't be sure.

He didn't bother looking at Janus; Magus kept his eyes trained on Schala, and she heard him loud and clear: His voice was softer, and she was amazed for he looked _pleading_. "Their lives are at stake... Obey me, Princess of Zeal."

"I..." Schala's plan fell to pieces around her, but she knew what he said was true.

She knew, anyhow, that he would be informing the Queen if she didn't do other than what he said. Schala _knew_; Magus had made up his mind, and nothing in the world would change it, now.

"... Oh... Alright..." The words fell out of her lips, heavy like rocks.

He loosened his grip on the Zeal siblings, Janus falling on his rear and Schala slumping; the cat scrambled into Janus' lap. She checked Janus, immediately, and shushed his protests when she stood. No marks were on his throat, which was good—Schala would have had to ruin her reputation if she _had_ found any injuries on her beloved brother. "Schala, be careful," Janus whimpered, clutching her arms, and she could only swallow and nod, pushing him away from Magus' reach.

The maiden stood and walked over, legs feeling as heavy as lead, to the blue-violet-black portal she felt immense power radiate from.

She looked into the eyes of the group, who seemed to be holding their breaths. "Please forgive me..." She begged them, lowering her eyes for a brief moment before forcing herself to meet their gaze again. They kept their eyes trained on her, not knowing what to do, or say, just like how the princess herself was feeling.

She started to chant. They began to glow, in their portal, and before the prism had formed around the hole, she saw the red-haired one nod.

They disappeared.

Magus, still seething, left with a flick of his robe, and Schala, watching him become engulfed by the outside light, fell to her knees.


	7. Seven

_*And here__'s where it gets good…_

…_I hope my writing has improved. I re-read some chapters, experienced hopeless Writer's Block, then decided to kick myself back into motion._

Chapter Seven

The bare fact in Zeal was that their Princess, strong in magic and sweet in demeanour, was also quite famous for her placid temper. Schala was more renown as a saint; she was the healer, the giver, the patient matron figure of their unruly and temperamental Prince Janus (every day, the people of Zeal depended on Schala to reign in Janus for his mischief, and teach him the proper ways to act like the heir). Schala was known to have endless advice, to be a beacon of composure, and having a strong sense of moral diversity. She was fair and stern in her ethics, and she would always be a ray of light to the people.

This, however, was not one of those days.

Schala stormed around the palace, a scowl upon her usually peaceful features. All of the sorrow that built on her from previous days, and the confusion that came with being acquainted with Magus, the gaining and eventual loss of hope had pivoted on a fragile point that lead into deep, endless ire. She lurked in her room, shutting herself away, which was a clear sign to any residence of the Kingdom of Zeal that Princess Zeal _was not_ happy at the moment, leave a message, and please try again later.

A maid attempted to enter her room. The maid came outside, and when asked how the Princess was doing, that's when they realized that the maid had been mercilessly bound by Silence. How she had the brunt of such a spell, no one questioned.

When said maid failed to retrieve Schala for the praying session, Queen Zeal couldn't have made a more perfect noise for Enhasa's encyclopaedia's word for "annoyed".

"Dalton," she said, in a voice that sounded like she was on the brink of actually doing something _herself_, "Go get her, for the love of Lavos." She fanned her neck, tossing her blueish hair back in annoyance. The Queen worked day and night, slipping through the traps set by the planet, bypassing and fighting the guardians of the world, tearing through layer and layer of the flesh of their earth to get to Lavos. She worked for the eternal life she'd thirsted for, the need first a seed that was implanted into her head after she found the Book of Lavos deep in Enhasa, after her husband... Couldn't the girl do something _right,_ and show up for measly _prayers?_ She almost snarled, snapping the fan shut with a definitive crack.

The shaded figure at the side of the room shifted.

"My lady."

"What is it, Prophet?" She sounded bored and edgy.

He swallowed the moment.

Magus spoke hastily, seeing it as his one chance to speak with Schala again—perhaps for a while, without causing any mishaps. "May I retrieve her, instead? You need me not currently, and I believe Lord Dalton and your highness were speaking of… important issues. I will be of no service to you, and I wish to be of some use." Silently, in the back of his mind, Magus congratulated himself for the submissive tone he managed to slide into his voice. He was finding it harder and harder to tolerate the queen.

A distant part of him echoed the word "Mother", but the echo stayed only that.

The queen paused for thought, looking at Dalton. In truth, the general always looked forward to forcing Schala to do anything, but what the Prophet said was, in every sense, true. He stalked the floor of the meeting hall, to the statue and back.

"I agree with him, my lady." Dalton grumbled, finally. Somehow, agreeing with the shady man felt like surrendering to him in a sense, and Dalton's pride was unhappy with the connection. He thought briefly about showing that high-and-mighty wraith some manners with his latest Golem, and then thought _Why bother? He'll be fodder for Lavos the minute I can talk some sense into the Queen. _ And then, he stood still at the bottom of the steps to the throne, eyeing the silvery man.

She nodded. "Go, then."

Magus turned without a second's delay, and was gone.

---

Schala was sitting at her table, her head in her hands, hair free and flowing down her back in a river of blue and silver. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep; she basked in the light of the moon, running over old hymns of Zeal in her head that calmed her restlessness. On nights, when the moon was out and the rare clouds were all hidden, she would do a different sort of prayer—one that would fix her, instead of pulling all of her insides out. She focused on cleansing herself of the negative emotions that plagued her, and focused on the meagre wisps of optimism that hadn't forsaken her. Perhaps there would be some other way to save the gurus, some other shred of hope…

"Sweet light, holy light, chaste forget that binds me whole..." She sang, quiet, under her breath. It was an old hymn; one with many, many words, lyrical and scanning and rhyming with one another until it built a web of light around her skin. The light rippled off of her, built off the gentler light of the sun reflected off the moon, sending water-waves around her room dancing in their struggle against fading.

The cleansing hymn—she used it often, delighting in the song and more delightful still at its effectiveness... He knew it before he even entered. He knew it as he heard the low thrum, at the end of the hall to her chambers.

She heard the knock on the door, three raps that were firm. She stopped her singing short, feeling the light fade away from her almost scathingly at the aura of the intruder. Schala wondered, how she _wondered_, if she could ever be as calm and as serene as she was not too long ago: a fire flared in her stomach, angry at the world, angry at _her_ world, and angry that someone interrupted the only time she had to _fix_ herself, finally realizing that she was just _angry_ in general.

Then, she decided it was time to put her temper aside.

She took a deep breath.

"Come in…" She called, tiredly, not moving.

She was expecting a maid, or a manservant of some sort. (In her opinion, Schala did not like to call them such as she viewed them just as people, but her mentality was too stretched to stop the discrimination.) Her door opened, silently, and not betraying a wisp of sound. Magus was basking in the last lights of the hymn, letting the familiarity and the homesickness—_damn_ his homesickness—toil around inside of him. He forgot to move, but quickly remembered, and she didn't recognize who it was until his aura enveloped her.

She spun around, her aqua eyes meeting his vermillion ones.

The navy-cloaked man stood, observing her, his gaze piercing her as usual. She was still sitting, only half turned to look at him, and the two stayed that way for what was almost an eternity. Schala realized that they were doomed to be forever bound in speechlessness when together, after _that_ escapade, and she wondered briefly if the awkwardness that came over them would ever return to the ease of a few days prior.

She broke the silence, after her thought process turned to "the few days prior". The Zeal princess flipped back, tearing her heated eyes away from his, and harshly bit out through dry lips, "Please leave."

"The queen sent me to retrieve you," came his smooth reply.

"…And?" Her tone was icy; Magus was surprised. Schala rarely ever used harsh tones.

She must've been _really_ angry.

He regained his composure, and coughed. "She wants you at the Ocean Palace right now."

"It is what she always wants. Please tell her I am tired, and please leave at once." Her tone was just as sharp as before, like the edge of a razor, and she didn't once turn from her spot at the table to show him a shred of apology for cutting him.

_So she is serious._

Magus paused, and sighed.

"Princess, _please_."

Some part of her felt... a sting?

"Or what?" Her voice was still cold, but it quivered from where she hung her head in her hands. "There's… no possible way that Lavos will be delayed, now, with the danger gone. Why can I not rest?"

He walked near her, footsteps quiet. Schala looked like a despairing ghost, pale head bowed in the submerged evening light; he knelt beside her knee, searching her face that was buried from his sight. Magus faintly recalled, long ago, being Janus. What had he done then to comfort her? The memories reminded him of hugging her around the waist, or crawling into her lap, or perhaps fiercely grabbing her head and stringing his awkward arms around it in haphazard comfort; _no, no_, and _no._ Before he could let the moment stretch and have more tension come on, he had to think fast. He reached out a gloved hand, and delicately stroked the gentle rise of her cheek.

She shivered.

Then, she looked at him.

Perhaps Schala always searched his eyes. She didn't know for sure. What she saw was warmth, and a sort of pleading, and the ever-present shadow that she couldn't see past. His gaze never faltered, nor did hers, as he raised and clasped her hands in his. Lukewarm heat leaked in around her colder hands from his gloves, failing to comfort her in any sense; she was just staring at him, as he spoke, out of the hope that he would not be deceiving her. "What have I done to offend you, Princess?"

"You... you interfered with my... plans." She didn't know why the words had trouble, struggling out from between her lips.

"And?"

It was hard to speak, when his eyes bore you down. She swallowed, trying to find the reason why she didn't want him there, and what that soreness in the pit of her stomach was from. She wanted to tell him to get out, and then she wanted to tell him to stay with her, stay just a little longer.

She fell silent for a while. Magus almost scowled, and he let go of her hands. "Princess, if that is what—"

"You..." She interrupted him, and he watched her eyes grow dark. Oh, she could match fire with fire.

"Yes?"

She opened her lips, and the fire extinguished. Well, perhaps she couldn't fight fire with fire, but she _tried_.

"You... are calling me Princess again..."

Oh.

..._Oh._

"Schala." He breathed, frowning when she lowered her head again. He wanted to look at her; he wanted to see her smile. What could he do to make her _smile?_

"... I..." She swallowed the lump, forming in her throat, cursing her own emotional imbalance. She hated the feeling; around him, she felt helpless and needy, and she sought something that she couldn't understand. She wanted something—she wanted... him to comfort her...

Silently, the need slipped into her mind.

As if by some sort of magic, or perhaps it was because he was a prophet, Schala let him cradle her head in his hands. He brought her face up to look at him, again, and his heart constricted to see her eyes filling with tears.

_More tears_, he thought, angrily. _More of Schala's tears._

The leather on his thumbs brushed them from her eyelids. The silence, now, was not as strained, though equally heavy and heart-wrenching. She sat in her chair, fisting the skirt on her knees, as he knelt in front of her and held her face, catching the tears that threatened to fall from her eyes.

"What are we doing, Magus?" She whispered, lost and lonely. "Why are we here?"

"I wish I could predict that."

Through the sobs that she fought, she choked out a laugh at his dry tone.

She unclenched her fists, stretching her fingers. She wanted...

Again, she knew he'd know what she needed. It was strange; she hadn't known this stranger for a few days, and already, she believed that he'd know her every move.

She could trust him. And she couldn't trust herself that she thought she could trust him.

He was hesitant, but with a little nod of her head, he embraced her small frame. He knew what she wanted; he'd seen it before. He couldn't even stop himself, so desperate in his plight to send her some form of forsaken comfort. _Damn it_, he _embraced_ her.

The maiden breathed in the musk that surrounded her. It was like being eaten by a shadow; he was larger than her in every sense. He was taller, wider, thicker, stronger... She felt safer, drowning in the folds of his cape. At first, they were both stiff, and they knew that if anybody caught them, there would be hell to pay.

Magus, and Schala for that matter, did not particularly care.

He pressed her tightly against him, breathing in the scent of her hair. They relaxed, limbs melting from hard wood into soft honey. She berated herself for trusting him, a near-complete stranger, with being that close to her, but the berating was drowned out by the rush of blood in her ears. All her upbringing told her to tear away from him, send him away, do as her mother told and go to the Ocean Palace.

"Schala..."

The sweetness in his voice, the first she'd ever heard in her existence, made something in her swell. It was hard to picture someone with such a cold, abysmal aura like Magus to ever manage that sweetness; him showing it to her made it all the more... _endearing._

She wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face into his shoulder. _We fit so well_, she marvelled, eyes misty.

And Magus?

Ultimately, he was content with just having her against him. All of him focused solely on that moment, when he had her in his arms, and the peace simmered through them. He didn't think about the sinful things that her touches told him; he didn't dare touch upon his memory, as he pillaged the Middle-Aged world in mystic fire. All he focused on was the gentle floral fragrance of her, and he took a shuddering breath.

Schala raised her head, coming eye-to-eye with his chin. He lowered his head, leaning and bringing both of them over so his hair caged their faces in.

Her heart skipped a beat. He heard it.

What was he doing?

He looked at her, memorized her features (the ones he had tried so desperately to keep in his mind, for the many years he's lost). The paleness of her face, announced by the pretty—though faded—blush that was constantly painted on her cheeks; the point of her nose, over her softly rounded lips; and her eyes, those aquamarines that bestowed unforgettable kindness and love upon him.

She thought he looked familiar, but she tried to push it away as paranoia. As he scanned over her, she did the same. She stared at the chiselled outline of his features; his piercing eyes, magnetic with the strength of his brow and the strength of his strong nose; his lips (but she only took a fleeting look, for she didn't understand the flair in her breast); and her vision circled back to his eyes.

Their eyes always somehow locked, and Schala realized she _liked_ how no matter what, they'd always go right back to looking at one another.

Schala pressed forward. She wanted...

And very gently, he tilted his head forward.

_What am I doing?_

Their lips met, very gently, both tentative. Magus was the first one to move; he had bridged the space between them, giving into the yearning that wickedly whispered in his heart. He took her by surprise, the rougher skin of his mouth swathing the softness of her lips.

_What are you doing?_

_She is your sister._

_You have waited forever for her._

_Would you risk it?_

_All of it?_

_She is your __sister__._

He ignored his own self-disgust. Magus knew what he wanted—Gods, he knew what _she_ wanted, the sweet and innocent sister of his who always knew just _too_ much—and he would not deny the delicious nectar that would quench his thirst. Schala was backing away, out of shock. He walked with her, supporting her suddenly limp figure. His lips were cold, and when he gained entrance between her lips, she found his tongue hot like a piece of lively coal. It caressed hers, eliciting a moan out of her that surprised her with its wanton hues.

She tasted like pure water, or a breath of fresh air; he wasn't sure. He tasted bitter, leaving undulating sweetness in bitterness' wake. The Fiendlord's teeth were sharp, and she felt them run gently around her tongue in a raking motion, somehow shocking her shoulders in the process; she jerked, breath catching in her throat. His strong arms snaked around her waist, holding her up as her legs failed her in strength. "M-Magus..." she whimpered, eyes wide and fearful as they pulled away for air.

He brushed away the stray strands of hair that clung to her brow, sticking to the sudden sweat that coated her forehead. Her eyes were lidded, hot and foggy, but shy and confused.

The mystic took her lips again, this time a little more brutally. The force rocked the two of them off their centers of balance, and they tumbled together onto her bed. As they wrestled their tongues together, soft and delicate fingers lacing with thick and calloused claws, the soft sheets cushioned their fall.

---

_Is this what they call a cliffie?_


End file.
